


Formalities I thru VI

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A shortie for Kass, because I wuvs her. (And for the "Food" challenge.)





	Formalities I thru VI

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Formalities I by DBKate

Slashx: 9 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Formalities I  
by DBKate  
  
Category: M/Sk slash  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: Archive X is okay. Nowhere else please.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.  
Summary: A shortie for Kass, because I wuvs her. (And for the "Food" challenge.)

* * *

Formalities I  
by DBKate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~

It was probably the poorest approximation of a tuxedo that I'd seen in many years.

I wondered if anyone had ever mentioned to Mulder that a black suit jacket, white polo shirt, black jeans and a lopsided bow tie older than himself wasn't exactly the classic definition of formal wear.

But for some reason, even if someone had, I don't think he would have cared. I watched as he strode through the crowded hall, ignoring the looks of curiosity that followed him. I wondered vaguely if they were staring at his clothing, or staring at the man himself. The famous, or rather, the infamous, Spooky Mulder, a man of a thousand stories, each one more implausible than the last.

As his superior, I'd heard each and every one of those stories, believed some, dismissed others, and tried like hell to remain fair about it all. He was never any help, and even now, as he strode up to me at the part of the bar that I'd claimed as refuge from the moment I'd entered the dinner, his expression was nothing short of mischievous.

And the rest of him was nothing short of miraculous ... lopsided ties be damned.

"Interesting tuxedo, Agent Mulder," I muttered under my breath, as he ordered something intelligible from the bar behind us.

He looked up, startled. Then smiled -- his slow, Cheshire grin. "It's the latest in make-your-own designer wear, sir. I figured this ho-down could use a little avant garde fashion advice."

I wasn't impressed, even though he looked damned good -- better than any man in the room. "Should I assume this means that you don't want to be here, Mulder?"

He shook his head, his face glowing with the most innocent expression imaginable. "I couldn't possibly think of anything better to with a Friday night, sir, than watch Agent Colton get Asshole of the..."

"-Agent- of the Year, Mulder," I hissed sharply, cutting him off before anyone overheard.

He snapped his fingers, feigning a slip of the tongue. "That's right, sir. What the hell was I thinking?"

The music started up again, and I watched as Colton shmoozed through the room, triumphant smile in place. I wasn't nuts about Colton either; I found him impossibly shallow, hesitant, even vaguely incompetent. But, he certainly was good at ladder climbing.

Unlike the agent who actually -deserved- that award. The one standing next to me, in his makeshift tuxedo, examining his hors d'oeuvres with a keen expression of irony lining his face.

"Sir?" he asked, holding a ridiculously expensive version of a tater-tot before me. "Would you honestly call this food or just an amazing simulation?"

I took a long swallow of my gin and tonic. He -was- in rare form tonight. "Mulder, either eat it or toss it. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?"

He shook his head. His expression serious. "No, she never did, sir." I looked at him curiously, but he'd already tossed the appetizer away, and was beginning to fidget. "You know, I'm starving," he muttered. "I'm going into the kitchen and see what they have."

He took off before I even had a chance to stop him. Grumbling, I put my drink down and followed him through the crowded room, toward the swinging doors in the back. Into the kitchen. What the hell was wrong with him, I thought, wincing. Either he had the social skills of a particularly rude moose, or he was indeed in rare form tonight.

I took a glance around to make sure no one was watching, and then quietly slipped into the kitchen.

"Mulder!" I hissed, as I saw him breaking up a large loaf of bread, and take the lid off of a steaming pot. "Get the hell out of here, now! God, where are your manners?"

He ripped a piece of bread off with his teeth, and answered with his mouth full. "Man doesn't live by manners alone."

I stormed up to him, just as he was about dip the bread into the sauce that bubbled before him. I almost got a hold of the slice, but missed, as he sidestepped me and quickly dunked it into the pot. It was a tomato sauce, piquant and spicy, and my stomach almost growled at the smell of it. I watched as Mulder popped the bread into his mouth, and swallowed, his pink tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of sauce that lingered underneath his lip.

It was ... an interesting sight.

I took a deep breath, willing away visions of that tongue, when he dipped in another piece of bread, and this time held it out to me. "It's incredible," he said, nodding encouragingly. "Try it. Seriously."

I sighed, looked back toward the door to see if anyone was about to come in, and then held out my hand to receive it.

He shook his head. Smiling. "It's too messy. Open your mouth."

"Mulder," I groused, but, oddly enough, I complied. He sidled up to me, and held the bread up in front of my mouth. Our eyes met, and a strange heat crawled up my spine as he motioned for me to open wider. He brought it to my lips, and I took a bite, our eyes locking. I chewed slowly, not even noticing the taste, and I was just about to swallow when he inched closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Good?" he whispered, his lips within an inch of mine.

I swallowed. Hard. And nodded. "Good."

"Good," he replied, very softly, and soon I could taste the bread again, but this time from his lips and it was incredibly delicious. Soft, and warm, even the slightest bit tart from the scotch he'd been drinking. I felt his tongue slid inside my mouth, with all its rough spots, and all its smooth planes, exploring simultanously. My heart was racing, tripping double time, and when he pulled me to him, linen rubbing against black jeans, I nearly lost it.

I pulled away quickly. Fighting for breath. "Mulder, I..." I stuttered, wondering what the hell I'd just done.

But, as fate would have it, the band started up. The first song was Moonlight Serenade, a slow Glenn Miller waltz, and we could hear it clearly even through the steel of the kitchen doors.

And he smiled again. Sweetly. Happily. "This is a great song. Best dancing song ever written."

I felt myself flush. Turn both hot and cold. "Mulder...I..."

But, before I could say another word, I was in his arms again. With him leading. Swaying as one. He was forcing me to go along, and I finally complied, leaning against him, against his heady warmth, and his very sweet scent. 

And before I realized it...

We were dancing. Slowly. In sync. I followed in step, relaxing, and it felt as though I were melting into him. His lips brushed my cheek, then my ear, and I shuddered. 

It was wrong ... insane... and utterly wonderful.

"Told you," he whispered, before kissing my ear again. "Best dancing song in the world."

"Yes," I agreed, and we continued to sway.

In an empty kitchen, at some ridiculous awards dinner, to a waltz from long, long ago.

~~~~~~~~~  
The End!

DBKate  


 

* * *

 

Slashx: 9 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Formalities II: The Rules  
by DBKate  
  
Category: M/Sk Slash - Romance  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: Archive X is okay. Nowhere else please.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.  
Summary: A follow up to "Formalities". Still for Kass, and for all those who seemed to enjoy the first one. Fluff-Alert! No redeeming value claimed.

* * *

Formalities II: The Rules  
by DBKate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes two steady hands and a truckload of concentration to drive a motor vehicle down the highways of DC, and I had none of the above. The awards dinner had finally ended, and I'd taken my leave with Mulder, trying like hell to figure out exactly what the hell I was going to do once we actually got toward our unknown destination.

His house. My house. Parking lot. Or all and any of the above.

Or, perhaps, none of the above.

Mulder appeared to be oblivious to my wretched state of mind. He'd already pulled off the bow tie, ditched the suit jacket, and was lazing back in the passenger seat, supremely comfortable in a cotton shirt, jeans and a beaten pair of black running shoes that I hadn't even noticed at the dinner.

I growled under my breath, wondering how the hell I'd gotten myself roped into an evening with this nut, when his hand slid onto my thigh. The pressure felt gentle, warm, comforting -- and it sent a tingle of anticipation shooting right up to my scalp.

I squirmed in the driver's seat, trying like hell to keep the car between the lines. Out of the corner of my eye I could -see- him grinning, and I felt a small sense of loss when his hand abandoned me.

The towers of Crystal City loomed ahead, and to take Mulder to his house, I'd have to make a turn at the oncoming light. I glanced over at him, but he seemed fascinated with my CD player to the exclusion of all other things.

I cleared my throat to get his attention. "So. Mulder."

"This is a five-disc player," he said, sounding impressed. "Boy, this is no joke this thing. Of course, your CD collection is a bit... um..."

I felt my jaw tighten. "What's wrong with my CD's?" I asked indignantly.

He looked up. Another slow grin. "Dylan, The Smiths *and* the Jerky Boys? I'd say it's more eclectic than I ever would have dreamed."

"The Jerky Boys belong to my niece," I grumbled. I tapped my fingers against the wheel. The light would be changing in a minute. "Mulder..." I said. Hesitantly.

"Yeah?" he replied, examining the rest of the dashboard intently.

"Should I turn here?" I asked, my throat tightening. God, this was insane.

No, correction, I was insane.

He glanced up casually. "Well, my neighborhood is over to your left."

"Right," I sighed. Whether it was a sigh of massive relief or massive disappointment, I wasn't sure.

"But your apartment is straight ahead," he rejoined quickly.

The light changed, and with a sigh, I turned the corner and pulled over in front of the local donut shop. "Okay," I said, rather breathlessly. "Which will it be? Are you going home or..."

"Or?" he asked. Innocently.

I took a deep breath, and felt my jaw tighten once more. "Or, would you like to come home with me?" There, I'd said it. That was it. I could almost hear the clanging of the tomb doors, but it was less frightening than I'd imagined.

"Oh," he said, stretching out, cat-like, in the passenger seat. "Well, according to The Rules..."

I interrupted. Annoyed. "The rules? What rules?"

"Oh, you know. That book. "The Rules?" His expression turned mischievous. "I'm not supposed go home with you on the first date."

I felt my face flush. Oh, for the love of... "There was no date, Mulder."

"Really?" he asked. Honestly curious. "Drinking, dinner ... dancing. That's more of a date than I've been on in years."

I almost had to laugh aloud. In his own strange way, he was right. "All right, Mulder, so you'd like me to take you home then. Correct?"

I looked over at him, waiting for his answer, and was surprised to see the softness of his expression. He looked so incredibly young in the pale shades of streetlight, and his eyes were glittering hazel and gold. Such bright, beautiful things they were, along with the rest of him, and I felt my breath stolen from me, as the wind steals the heat of summer. He was stunning, gorgeous, -- more so than I'd ever have believed possible.

He didn't answer right away, and I swallowed. Hard. "I'll take that as a -yes-," I said, trying not to sound as disappointed as I'm sure I must have looked.

I turned the car's ignition back on and was about to yank the gears into place, when I felt his hand slid under my chin, and I found myself pulled into his arms, his lips already taking mine beneath them. Helpless, I groaned into the kiss, and I felt the rake of desire crawl down my stomach and thighs, making my knees tremble.

It was then that I knew for certain that I wanted him. Right there and then, streets and donut shops and reputations and everything else in this entire world be damned.

I pulled away, only to draw him toward me, and I struggled with the urge to flip back the car seat, and have him right there. I heard a whimper as I ran my hand up his thighs, the crisp, clean denim scratching my fingertips. This inflamed me, and I doubled my attentions, kissing my way down his throat, pushing my hands under the soft cotton of his shirt.

He moaned when my finger traced his nipple, and suddenly, he wrenched away, breathing hard. "Walter..." he gasped.

I pulled back, fighting for air myself. "Yes?"

"We're in public," he whispered, his eyes glowing. God, he was beautiful.

"Right," I replied, and pushed myself back into the driver's seat. I pulled off my glasses and wiped them on my sleeve.

They'd fogged up.

Mulder chuckled at the sight of that, and I joined in the laughter. I slid the glasses back on, looked at him, and felt a surge of affection that was utterly unfamiliar. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, pulled the car out of park, and peeled away from the curb.

And headed down to Mulder's apartment.

The towers of Crystal City disappeared behind us as we made our way up toward the narrower streets of Hegal Place. Mulder was silent as we finally pulled up to his apartment, and I turned to him, smiling.

It was his turn to look abashed and I saw his face flush, even in the dim light. "Well, Walter, would...would you like to come in with me?"

And it was my turn to stretch out casually and regard him closely. "Well, Mulder, according to The Rules..."

I heard him groan -- saw him roll his eyes. "I should have seen that one coming."

I grinned. "I just want to make sure that I'm doing this right. It -is- our first date, after all."

His expression turned soft. Full of affection. "Yeah, you're right." He looked at me seriously, his tone turning just the slightest bit nervous. "But not the last. Right?"

"Depends," I whispered, unable to stop myself from leaning over, and kissing his forehead.

His eyes closed. Whisper soft voice. "On what?"

"On what the rules are for the second date," I replied, smiling against his cheek.

"Oh," he said, before pulling my mouth to his. He released me, and gave me that Cheshire cat smile once more. "Well, Walter, you know about that second date, don't you?"

I shook my head, as he reached for the car door.

He turned and grinned at me, his eyes shining. "That second date is a completely different story."

"Oh," I replied. Softly. And I watched as he bounded up his apartment stairs, turning only once...

To wave goodnight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
DBKate, 1998  


 

* * *

 

Slashx: 10 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Formalities III: Etiquette  
by DBKate  
  
Category: M/Sk Slash - Romance  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: None.  
Archive: ArchiveX is okay. Nowhere else, please.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.  
Feedback: All and any is welcome. (And begged for pathetically)  
Summary: The second date. Fluff-Alert! Schmoop! No redeeming value claimed.  
Note: This entire series is for Kass, in thanks for the countless hours of friendship and schmoop she has to given me. Thanks to everyone who sent me feedback for these, you guys are *very* generous and all inspiring.

* * *

Formalities III: Etiquette  
by DBKate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day at work was a shell game of expense reports and silent rants at a clock whose hands refused to move.

Everything was set up and planned for that evening. Mulder would be dropping by at eight p.m. for dinner, and hopefully by ten p.m., we'd be on to more interesting things.

I'm not a man who's ever given much thought to cooking, and I didn't plan on starting to now. A quick stop by Dean and Deluca for a carton of prepared soup, a tray of gourmet lasagna and a loaf of good bread seemed both sensible and efficient. I drove home, taking my time. There was no rush; the apartment was already clean, spotlessly so.

I'd been a Marine after all.

Of course, now I was an ex-Marine, a current Assistant Director of the FBI, who was planning, of all things, a dinner-date with his subordinate. His male subordinate. There was a niggle I wasn't accustomed to rankling some corner of my usually ordered thought pattern, but, remembering the strains of Moonlight Serenade, I pushed it aside.

Remembering the look in his eyes the moment after I'd kissed him didn't hurt either.

I heard a strange sound in the elevator as it rose, and was horrified to discover that it was coming from me. It appeared that I was humming. I tried to turn it into a cough when a neighbor entered the car, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Luckily, my floor was only a second away, and I escaped from the curious looks of Mrs. Kruzthol, dignity more or less intact.

I entered my apartment at exactly 1900 hours, dinner was heating at 1915, and I was showered and dressed at precisely 1930. I had half an hour to kill, so I flipped through cable wondering how on earth a human being could have two hundred channels, and still have nothing to watch.

So, I flipped off the television and thought about Mulder instead.

Wondered what he'd be wearing. Typical, I suppose, but noting his unusual taste in formal wear, it would interesting to see what he'd show up in. Straight from the office perhaps, still in his suit, or if I was particularly lucky, I might be treated to another view of Mulder casual wear, this time not in some bow-tied disguise.

Jeans would be nice. Button-down ones, with each snap parting between my fingers. A cotton shirt, easily pulled off and discarded. Underneath, it would be too much to hope that there would be nothing, but I could imagine it. It was a short step from there to picture the rest of him, smooth, lean and smiling.

Gorgeous eyes glowing, and a smart mouth that demanded to kissed.

I'd surrender to that demand, perhaps on the couch. Or if we took our time, maybe even the bed. I'd like to see him underneath the down quilt, surrounded by dark blue cotton, outlined against the pillows. Warm and comfortable at first, laughing even, then arching beneath my tongue and the rest of my body, making sounds much different than laughter.

At this thought, my body shifted uncomfortably, and I glanced at my watch.

It was exactly 2000 hours. Eight p.m.

And I was more ready for that second date than I'd been for anything in my life.

By 2015, I'd already gone through two shower fantasies and breakfast, by 2030, I was thinking about the back seats of cars, by 2108, I was wondering about traffic, by 2145 I was debating the odds of a car accident.

By 2205, I was imagining my hands around his throat.

As a Marine, an appreciation of punctuality had been drummed into me after years of service, but I was flexible enough to give some slack where due. But two hours late was not a question of tardiness. It'd become quite clear that I'd been stood up.

Stood up. Now, that was something I -hadn't- been expecting. Not even from Mulder.

It was mortifying, and the niggle that had been rankling through my mind grew into a loud chorus of naysayers, all of them sounding very much like an unloved aunt of mine, the one with the incredibly thick mustache and the cheek bruising pinchers that she referred to as fingers.

My own fingers began to tap, and I saw my glasses steam up, but not from any acts of passion. I could hear myself snorting, and decided that, as the song goes, everyone plays the fool at some point. Well, fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice...

I was just tossing the now-stale bread into the trash when the doorbell rang.

Oh, that had better be either an extremely early paper boy, or a very late UPS driver I growled to myself. Because if it isn't...

I flung the door open, only to see Mulder standing in my doorway, wearing neither a suit nor casual wear, but an outfit that could only be described as "Outbreak" meets "The Flintstones."

Well, there goes another fantasy. "Hello, Mulder," I growled, trying not to sound like Seinfeld greeting Newman, but I failed miserably.

"Sir," he gasped, from somewhere inside the ragged contraption he was covered with. "Walter. What would do if I told you that underneath this very apartment building was a warehouse filled with experimental geckos the size of dogs?"

I pondered the question. "You're asking me what I would do, Mulder?"

He nodded. "I would do -this-, Mulder," I replied...

Before shutting the door in his face.

I turned off the hallway light, made sure the appliances were all shut down, before I made my way up the stairs to my bedroom, ignoring the frantic knocks and the voice that was growing louder behind the front door's impenetrable barrier.

"Sir! Walter...wait...Walter! Come on. I -swear-! It's true. Aw, come on! Walter!"

Without turning around, I went to bed.

~~~~~~~~

The next day I was somewhat surprised when Kimberly entered my office bearing a large bouquet of spring flowers with a small note attached. She placed it on my desk, and after she'd left, I opened the note.

Only to read:

"Mea culpa. Can we try once more? This time my place, tomorrow, 8:00 p.m.? Please. I swear, there isn't a gecko for miles. Promise. -- Yours, M"

With a sigh, I folded the note, and rang Kimberly.

To cancel my next evening's itinerary.

~~~~~~~  
DBKate, 1998  


 

* * *

 

Slashx: 10 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Formalities IV: Hospitality  
by DBKate  
  
Category: M/Sk Slash - Romance  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: ArchiveX is okay. Nowhere else please.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.  
Feedback: Oh, yes, thank you mam', may I've another?  
Summary: The third date. Fluff-Alert! Schmoop Ahead! Man the suspension of disbelief! For Kass, who taught me that writing can be FUN! What a concept!

* * *

Formalities IV: Hospitality  
by DBKate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was in no particular hurry this evening.

To be honest, I was still stung from my last non-encounter with Mulder, giant geckos not withstanding. Seriously wondering if I should cool it down, hold back, or even simple forget it. But, in the end, lust won, and the next evening I found myself driving at a leisurely pace from Crystal City, down toward Mulder's apartment, to see if he'd make good on his offer.

A second date. Complete with dinner. Perhaps even dancing.

Maybe even more.

It was still an intriguing reflection, and soon, I found my thoughts drifting, with visions of naked Mulders loping through my brain, when my cell phone went off.

Annoyed, I flipped it open. "Skinner."

"Sir?" It was Dana Scully.

My throat caught. A call from Agent Scully, was rarely, if ever, good news. "Yes?"

"Sir, I just wanted to report that Agent Mulder has been injured in the line of duty again and is currently hospitalized."

"Again?" I choked, the car lurching forward as I hit the gas.

"Again, sir."

Again. Damn that man. Not only for consistently increasing the Bureau's already outlandish insurance premiums, but for getting himself hurt right after stealing a goodly chunk of my affections.

"What happened and what's his condition, Agent Scully?" I asked, trying to simultaneously avoid getting stuck behind a red light -and- running down a particularly ugly Pomeranian.

"Both are unknown, sir. I'm heading to the hospital myself at the moment."

"Great," I muttered. "Which hospital? The usual?"

I heard her sigh. "Yes, sir. North Georgetown. The usual."

"Wonderful," I grumbled. "I'll meet you there."

There was a pause, and then, she responded. "Um. Yes, sir. I'll meet you there."

Now, normally, I didn't go visiting Mulder the moment he was hospitalized. To be honest, I'd given that up after approximately the eighth time. And that was two years ago. About ten minutes later, the hospital came into view, and I pulled into its parking lot. I entered the emergency entrance, waving myself through with my badge, and found out which room he was in.

Everything was fine. Until I entered the elevator. 

That's when it hit me.

He might be seriously hurt. Shot. Bludgeoned. Beaten. Stabbed. Fallen from a roof. He might be unconscious, hooked up to God knows what sorts of horrible machines, breathing air that was being forced into him, breath by breath. He might be dying.

He might be dead.

At this thought, my mouth turned completely dry. It had only been four days; four days since that dinner and a dance. Four days since I'd taken his lips beneath my own, and reveled in their warmth. Four days since I'd begun to look forward, more than just about anything, to taking him in my arms, and not letting him go.

By the time the elevator doors opened, I was hyperventilating.

I forced myself to be calm, and strode down the hall to his room, number 329. I checked the name plate, and noticed that the door was closed. I took a deep breath to prepare myself, for whatever awaited inside, and opened the door.

To see Mulder, sitting up in bed, eating Cheeze Puffs and watching The Simpsons.

And I didn't know whether to kiss him ... or smack him.

I heard a loud "D'oh!" come from the set, and watched as he chuckled. I noted that his arm was in a sling, from elbow to wrist, but other than that, he seemed fine. I cleared my throat to gain his attention, and he turned. Startled.

"Walter," he said. Delightedly. He nodded toward a visitor's chair. "Take a seat. Cheeze Puff?" he offered, holding out the bag.

"No, thank you," I replied, and before he could continue, I closed the curtain behind me, took his face between my hands and kissed him. A long slow kiss; a melting kiss, one that I felt right down to the soles of my feet.

I pulled back for air, looked into eyes that were sparkling. And I did it again.

After that one was done, I watched as a slow smile lit his features. "You know," he said, beaming. "You could market that as a pain killer."

I shook my head. Looked at his arm. "What happened to you?"

He fidgeted. Blushed. "Uh. Well. You know those geckos I was telling you about the other night?"

"Oh, for God's sake," I grumbled. "Mulder..."

He held up his good hand. "They were actually dogs. I think. Well, that's what the doctor thought. Anyway, whatever they were, one of them bit me."

Again, I was tempted. To smack him. "What the hell were you doing fooling around in that basement anyway, Mulder?" I asked, seriously annoyed. "For crying out loud. You were supposed to come by for dinner, but instead you go down into some dank part of my apartment building and then you..."

He looked down. Sadly. "I was...I was..."

His expression was so dejected, I stopped mid-rant. I felt myself soften, even against my better judgement. "You were what, Mulder?" I asked. Gently, this time.

His head drooped lower. "I was nervous. Walter. Scared."

Nervous. Spooky Mulder, the man who tread where few would dare to go. Scared. I hate to admit it, but my heart nearly melted at the thought. I found it hard to reply.

"I haven't been on a...well ... I don't know. I haven't cared for someone ... I mean..." He was plainly struggling with the words, and I decided to put him out of his misery.

By taking his lips once more, and showing him there was no longer a need to speak.

I heard him moan into the kiss, and I carefully embraced him, trying to avoid his injured arm. He was wonderfully warm, and was wearing nothing but a sheet and a paper gown. A paper gown that was slipping down to reveal a beautiful chest and slim stomach. I pulled away from his mouth and began to work my way down his neck, feeling his heartbeat against my lips, and then to his chest, where I caught a nipple between my teeth and teased it to life.

He groaned loudly at this, and I continued downward, feeling him urging me on, down to his navel. I followed the line of his stomach muscles, licking the flat of his hip, and was just about to uncover the rest...

When the door squeaked.

I leapt up, yanked the sheet over him, and banged my head against his IV pole in the process. I winced at the pain, but didn't make a sound.

"Mulder?" It was Dana Scully.

Some small and petty part of my brain insisted that I lower her yearly salary increase by five percent, but I shook the thought from my mind.

"Here, Scully," said Mulder, in a strangled voice. "I'm over here."

Silently, I thanked him, for my voice was nowhere to be found. I heard the curtain swish open behind me, and saw Scully jump a bit at the sight of me. "Oh, you're here already, sir."

"Uh, yes," I said, trying to clear my throat. "I was just leaving as a matter of fact. Um, Agent Mulder, get well soon, and uh, keep me informed.

He merely nodded in reply, hazel eyes wide as saucers.

I nodded goodbye at Agent Scully, who was peering at me curiously, as one would examine a specimen of unusual interest. I quickly made my way into the elevator, trying to compose myself, when I saw it in the elevator mirror.

A clear orange smudge on my cheek. On my chin. On my neck. Looking very much like the orange that could only be acquired from an evening of kissing another man...

Who was eating a bag of Cheeze Puffs.

~~~~~~~~~  
DBKate,1998  


 

* * *

 

Slashx: 11 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Formalities V: Punctuality  
by DBKate  
  
Category: M/Sk Slash - Romance  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: ArchiveX is okay. Nowhere else please.  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does  
Feedback: All and any is welcome. Feed me!  
Summary: The third date. Schmoop Alert! Fluff Ahead! Take your insulin shots!  
For Kassandra, as always.  
This fic has been brought to you by Marlboro Lights 100's and Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. "Caffeine-Free Diet Coke -- What Exactly Is The Point?"

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Formalities V: Punctuality  
by DBKate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived at exactly eight p.m.

There was to be no more waiting, no more games or geckos --nothing. Nothing but Fox Mulder and I, together for a quick, quiet dinner, and then, a night of me showing him exactly how much I'd enjoyed being slathered with Cheez Puff powder.

I knocked on his front door, and he answered, utterly resplendent in faded jeans and a fresh, well-laundered shirt. No man in any tuxedo could have matched him, and I wondered if he knew it.

"Hey," he said. Brightly.

"Hey," I replied, holding out my contribution to our dinner. A six-pack of twelve ounces.

"Long stems. You shouldn't have," he smiled, taking the beer from my hands.

I returned the smile, and was more than glad to see his small dinette table already set for two, and I sniffed the air appreciatively. Steak, baking potatoes, and some sweet vegetable appeared to be on the menu.

He disappeared into the kitchen. "Take a seat, Walter. This will be done in five."

Relived, I flopped down on his couch. Noted with amusement the can of furniture polish on the coffee table. If someone cleans for you, it -must- be a good omen.

I called out to him. "Did you actually cook this meal, Mulder?"

He popped his head out from the kitchen. Looked puzzled. "Yeah. Is that so shocking?"

"Well..." I replied, thinking of my own lack of culinary skills.

He sighed. "Why does everyone think I can't cook? You, Scully -- my own mother. I mean, Cheez Puffs are good for only about a week of meals and then..."

I grinned. "Hey, don't knock the Cheez Puffs. I've developed a taste for them."

He disappeared back into the kitchen, and I could hear his laughter echo throughout the apartment.

An hour later, after a surprisingly excellent meal, I felt satiated, confident and completely relaxed. He'd lit candles for the supper, and was more beautiful than any man had a right to look, his brown hair soft and falling into very bright hazel eyes. I searched my heart for that whining niggle of disapproval and found that it had disappeared entirely, leaving behind only desire.

And an odd, wondrous emotion that I didn't dare name.

He reached over the table and laced his fingers with mine. "Come with me," he said. Huskily. Pulling on my hand.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, rose and followed him into a small room just off of the kitchen. Was amazed when I saw his bedroom, filled with candles, lit, with the scent of vanilla and spice filling the air, casting golden shadows onto the walls. He was a true romantic, wasn't he, I thought, every cynical part of me melting away at the sight.

I couldn't resist him, not for a moment, not for a second longer, and I pulled him into my arms. There was no resistance on his part either, and he leaned into me, leaned into the kiss that I offered him, and it was heaven. Soft lips tracing my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids. With a groan, I took his mouth with my own once more, feeling the warmth of his tongue; the smooth planes of his teeth.

I gently pushed him a step back, his knees hit the edge of the bed, and we fell together, cushioned. Everything was racing, my heart, my mind, and I ached for him, for all of him. I unbuttoned his shirt, and he whimpered as I kissed down his chest, discovering the things he enjoyed, exploring soft skin, teasing his nipples to hardness.

I was truly aching now, uncomfortably so, especially when his hands began their own exploration, under my shirt, then between my legs. I nearly bucked at the touch, and doubled my attentions, still going slowly, wanting this to last, last the whole night if possible.

Make it last my whole life if possible.

"God," he whispered, as I nipped at his earlobe. "God, Walter, please don't stop."

I buried my face in his throat and shook my head. "Nothing could stop me. Ever."

But, as fate would have it, some demon disagreed. My cell phone rang.

I ignored it, continued to kiss Mulder instead, but it was insistent, a non-stop ringing, a bleating beep that was impossible to disregard any longer.

With a groan, I rose. Looked down at Mulder, his expression dazed, his lips beautifully puffy and wet. "Do. Not. Move." I growled, and he nodded, with a tiny grin.

I stormed into the living room, grabbed my jacket and snatched the phone with a furious gesture. I didn't give a damn who it was; there was no human being on this earth who could stop me tonight.

I flipped the phone open. "Skinner," I snarled.

"Please hold for the Office of The Attorney General," replied a clipped secretarial voice.

No human being except for that one.

I resisted the urge to slam my head into the wall, when another voice came on the line.

Not Reno's, but one of her stooges, a real ass named Clifton Hogg. "Walt! Big guy! How ya doin'?" he oozed at me, oblivious.

"Hello, Hogg," I replied, wishing for a severe electrical storm to hit right about then. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey, didn't interrupt anything there, did I, big guy?"

Oh, he deserved a Mensa membership. And a severe beating. "What makes you think that, Hogg?" I asked, massaging my temples. A migraine to beat all migraines was forming.

He didn't reply to that. Because, as I well knew, he didn't care. "Anyway, big guy, I'm organizing the dress evidence for the Lewinski case, and the Attorney General asked me to ask you to make sure that your lab guys are on the ball with this thing. She wants you to personally oversee it, and she wants me to be your liaison. So, look, I'm meeting you, oh, let's say in forty, okay, Walt? We'll meet at the Headless Woman."

"The where?! The what?!" I cried. "The...that...that damn dress? I'm supposed to organize the evidence retrieval? Tonight?! Now?!" My head felt like it was about to fall off.

"Yep. Oh, and don't forget that Bureau American Express card of yours. I got a hankering for a big bowl of chili. See ya in forty, big guy!"

And before I could reply, the phone went dead.

Nearer to tears than I'd ever been in my life, I flipped the phone shut and stumbled back into the bedroom, where Mulder was already sitting on the edge of the bed, a sad expression lining his face. Our eyes met, and I could tell he'd overheard.

"Well, at least -someone- appears to have gotten some," he said, with only the slightest smirk.

"Well, we don't know that for sure," I sighed. I turned to him, feeling utterly miserable, when he rose and took my face between his hands.

"Don't worry," he whispered, kissing me very gently. "We have time. Tomorrow night?"

I nodded. Frantically. "Yes. And, I swear, Mulder, nothing, I mean absolutely -nothing- will stop us then."

"Good," he replied. He laced his fingers with mine once more, and kissed the back of my hand. My heart did a backflip at the sight. He reached up for another kiss.

"Tomorrow?" he asked. Softly.

I replied, with all the sureness I could muster. "Tomorrow."

And all I could do was pray it was true.

~~~~~~~~~~~  
DBKate, 1998  


 

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Slashx: 11 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Formalities VI: Dressed Up  
by DBKate  
  
Category: M/Sk slash - Romance  
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: Archive X is okay. Nowhere else please  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does.  
Summary: Mulder, Skinner and a date with Destiny!  
As always for my dear Kass, who makes me smile every day.

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Formalities VI: Dressed Up  
by DBKate  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly midnight the next evening, when I, Walter. S. Skinner, found myself in charge of the safekeeping of the most famous, and by far, the most idiotic, piece of evidence in American history.

A short, dark cocktail dress.

A cheap one too, with a GAP label dangling by a thread from the inside collar. With a groan, I hung it up on the back seat window hook of my car. It was far too valuable a piece of evidence to be left in the Sci-Crime lab over the weekend, so I took it upon myself to keep it nearby at all times.

The leadership of the free world was riding on that dress, and I had no intentions of being the poor sap who screwed it up. I brushed down the plastic dry-cleaning bag that covered it, closed the door, and took the driver's seat.

I was just about to pull out of my parking spot, when a familiar face peeked in through my passenger window.

"Hey sailor, can a guy get a lift around here?"

I smiled at the sound. Smiled at the beautiful, beaming face. "Sure, Mulder. Come on in."

He jumped in the passenger seat, and soon, we were taking off down the DC expressway. I glanced over at him, and he was gorgeous -- as always. Relaxed and rumpled, his tie and top button open just enough to reveal a wonderful patch of throat. He smelled like aftershave, leather and peppermint. 

He looked good enough to eat.

And I was getting hungry. "So, where off to tonight, Mulder?" I asked, trying to remain casual, but he was making my blood pressure reach rates that most physicians would declare unhealthy.

He shrugged. Grinned. "Well, there have been reports of a mysterious White Devil Bird floating around the Arlington area, one that Scully claims is an albino bat..." he began, but was cut off by my groan.

"You're joking, I'd assume. No, wait. You probably aren't," I said, reconsidering.

He shook his head. Mock-sadly. "No. Afraid not. But, the good news is, I have a partner."

I could feel my jaw go slack. "You sent Agent Scully to stake out an albino bat?"

He nodded. Devilishly. "Binoculars, hard hat and net in hand." He looked at me primly. "I told her I had a date tonight. I do, don't I?"

God help me -- but I burst out laughing. Just the mental image of Dana Scully sitting on a roof wearing a hard hat, holding a net and squinting through a pair of binoculars in search of a mutant bat was enough to send me over the edge. No one on earth but Mulder could have gotten her to do that.

But then again, she wasn't the only one in the palm of his hand.

I turned toward him, and I felt that wonderful ache roll right down to my toes. "Yes, you -do- have a date tonight," I said softly. "Where would you like to go?"

A sly grin. "I can pick the place?"

"Yep," I replied, turning off of the expressway.

He considered. Thoughtfully. "There's a great little spot just down that path over there," he said, pointing to a narrow road that led off toward a grassy hill.

I looked at him curiously. "There's a restaurant down there? I thought there was just some rest areas and lots."

"Who said anything about going to a restaurant?" he replied, smiling. Wickedly.

A lump formed in my throat, and my heart jumped. "Oh," I said. Shakily.

His expression turned thoughtful. "I think you'll like it. And, considering we've had no luck with apartments, kitchens, or hospitals, a nice, quiet rest stop seems to be the inevitable conclusion."

I couldn't argue with that sort of logic. Hitting the gas, I finally reached the end of the road, and found an secluded spot. A place with tall trees, waving grasses, and not a street lamp in sight. It was dark, smelled of deep woods and fresh air, and I could see the moon beaming through the windshield, a bright face smiling down on us, like the good goddess she's supposed to be.

"Perfect," breathed Mulder, turning to me, and for a while that was the last word spoken.

I took his lips frantically beneath my own, not wanting to hesitate, not wanting to miss a single spot of skin. His cheeks rasped against my own, and he was incredibly real and warm in my arms.

Both our coats were soon shed, as were our ties. Shirt buttons fell to the side, and I groaned as his exposed chest beckoned invitingly. I kissed my way down it as his head was thrown back against the rest, and he was breathing hard. Moaning softly.

That wonderful ache echoed throughout my body, and it turned into a blaze. I wanted him. I wanted him more than I'd ever remembered wanting anything in my life. I shifted, then turned, then fought with a pair of seats that refused to budge. Things were getting in my way, and I suddenly remembered that getting your foot stuck in a steering wheel was never a comfortable experience. The car horn went off twice, startling us both, making my teeth grind.

Soon, the frustration became way, -way- too much.

"Back seat," he panted, and I simply nodded in reply.

Stumbling, climbing, slipping, we finally made it there, and I reveled in the newfound freedom of motion. I worked at his pants, he worked at mine, and soon we were both gladly and gloriously naked.

Finally, I could have his body, all of it, and it was a wondrous thing. He was amazing, with slim legs and a perfect ass, a runner's body, thin, but not skinny. He appeared to appreciate mine, and when he took my cock in his hands, I thought I'd lose it right there. I kissed my way down his stomach, and without further hesitation, swallowed him whole.

He bucked into my mouth, I could feel his hands behind my head, urging me on, with words, with actions, and the hot salt and silk was better than any meal I've ever dreamed of.

"Oh, Christ, Walter," he breathed. "Do you...do..."

I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him. His eyes were shining. "Do I what, Mulder?"

"Do you have anything? Like...like..." He was having a hard time articulating, but I understood.

I thought about it. Then remembered. "I have some of that Aromatherapy oil of my niece's. She left it in here, somewhere in the back seat, if I just..." I bent down and rummaged, finally feeling the outline of a tiny bottle. 

God bless Randi, I thought. Always leaving crap in my car. 

What a great kid.

"Got it," I gasped, pulling out the bottle's stopper, and pouring the oil on my hand. It wasn't exactly the most masculine smelling stuff in the world, but it was pleasant enough.

Mulder shifted, turned onto his knees, and I was treated to the best sight yet. I kissed the small of his back, and carefully entered him, one finger first, gently, making sure he was all right. He made a wonderful throaty sound, pushed back onto me, so I increased the fingers to two. 

Increased the pressure, looked for the spot that never failed and got a loud yelp of pleasure for my trouble.

I couldn't wait any longer.

With shaking hands, I poured more oil, and covered myself with it. Carefully, very carefully, I slid in, and God, it was heaven. No, it was better than heaven. It was tight, and hot, and scratchy, and perfect. I tried to keep my rhythm slow, tried to keep from coming right there, then, tried to keep from biting my lip through. I also tried to keep from yelling out, screaming his name, but I failed on all counts.

Mulder seemed to be enjoying himself as well. Pushing himself back onto me, making the most incredible sounds; words of desire and passion, calling my name, then making nonsense noises that were no less welcome to my ears. There was no more holding back as I pounded into him reflexively, reaching my hand around to grasp his jutting cock, and I milked it as he moved into my strokes.

What seemed like a moment later, I felt an incredible tightness bear down on me, and I lost it, coming and coming again, the shock of pleasure and happiness rolling through me. Hot, wet stickiness covered my fingers and I heard Mulder cry out my name once more, joyfully.

It was all over far too soon, and for a long moment I lay against his spine, not wanting to leave his warmth just then. I kissed the back of his neck, lovingly, licking off the salt and sweat. He turned his face toward me, and I covered his cheek with kisses, and finally, with a groan I pulled out. I turned him over, pulled him toward me, and kissed him, this time a long, lingering kiss.

A lover's kiss, one that he returned with a fervor that I could have only dreamt of.

"Beautiful, beautiful one," I murmured over and over, and he smiled against my mouth.

"Uh, huh," he nodded, and kissed me again. "That was worth the wait."

I agreed. "You said it." I'd never remembered feeling happier, more alive. It seemed as though nothing, no -nothing- could spoil this moment.

Until he pulled something out from under him. Held it up for me to see.

"Uh, Walter," he hesitated. "Jeez, I'm really sorry about this."

I looked at him and what he held. Puzzled. "Sorry about what?"

He looked at me. Sheepishly held up a dark piece of cloth. "Um, I'm afraid I sort of, uh, ....um...came on this."

My eyes widened. Why, it seemed like the cloth Mulder was holding up was shaped like a dress. Yes, that's exactly what it was. It was a dress.

A short, dark cocktail dress.

"Holy Mother Mary of God," I choked. "Oh, my Lord."

His eyes turned saucer-like. "I'm sorry, Walter. If it's your niece's dress, I swear, I'll buy her a new..."

"HOLY JESUS, SON OF GOD!"

"What?!" he cried out. "What is it? I'm -sorry-, I said! Jesus, Walter...what the hell..."

I was hyperventilating. Choking. Dying.

"Mulder," I finally panted. "That's not my niece's dress. That's...that's...that's the LEWINSKY DRESS! The evidence in the trial! The one that Clinton is supposed to have...OH, MY GOD!"

With a shriek, he dropped it. Turn to me in horror. "Jesus, Walter," he whispered. "Oh, my God."

Slowly, we both leaned back against the car seat, both of us, staring, horrified, at the crumpled piece of cloth at our feet. A long, terrible, moment passed, and then I heard it.

A giggle.

A giggle that was slow to start, but soon gained in volume, finally turning into a full-fledged Mulder laugh. Deep. Hearty. Hysterical. Choking, with tears streaming, a howling, joyous sound.

There was no way I could resist it. The smile formed, even as I fought it, and the laughter swelled up. Until I was bellowing almost as loudly as Mulder was.

And for a long time, deep into the night, all that anyone would have heard and seen in that small, dark alcove, would have been the hysterical laughter of two men, coming from an old blue car, the one with the fogged windows, a shaking back seat...

And covered in moonlight.

~~~~~~~~~  
THE END!

Thanks for sticking with me for the series, hope you enjoyed it!  
best,  
DBKate, 1998  



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